A lifetime after tomorrow
by Ann aspiring writer
Summary: It's the summer of 1929. An old woman lives on, thinking about her extraordinary past. She remembers a beautiful and passionate girl, an unforgettable love story and the splendour of a civilization gone with the wind.
1. The way she lives now

The glorious summer day, daughter of 1929, has been trying in vain to attract the woman's attention for a very long time. Sitting on the sun-bathed veranda, she is deep in thought. She doesn't notice the warm breeze playing upon her face, trying to make the frown on her forehead disappear. Finally, the gentle wind dies away, saving its caresses for someone more responsive to them.

Her green velvet garment speaks for itself – it is rich, luxurious and elegant, albeit somehow out of place in the simple, serene atmosphere of the large house surrounded by nature. It has a wave of nostalgia about it, as if it rightfully belongs to another time and only a mistake is responsible for its being here. Just like its owner.

_She_ is an old woman, but not the fairytale sort of – plump, cheerful, baking cookies for her grandchildren. Far from it. There is dignity written all over her features, also present in her position. It almost resembles pride – the gratifying knowledge of having survived, against all odds. On her face, an artist or a long acquaintance could have guessed, even after so many tempestuous years, an unconventional beauty and natural charm which must have made her stand out in the crowd in her youth. The passage of time, with its continuous siege, couldn't yet extinguish the remnants of a remarkable assemble of features.

The sound of somebody clearing their throat behind her altered her train of thought and brought her back to reality. She was now sure to hear Molly's annoying voice… oh, how she reminded her sometimes of Prissy.

"Excuse me, madam. I'm sorry to disturb you. I just came here to bring you today's newspaper."

"Then give it to me and leave."

"Yes, madam." _She treats me as if I were her slave. But I have no right to complain, she pays me well. She can afford anything. Hmm, maybe she robbed a bank in her better days._

The old lady opens the newspaper at the fashion page, the only one that interests her in the slightest.

"Great balls of fire!"

"Madam, madam! Are you alright?"

"This is just atrocious! Look at that awful dress. No waistline and no bodice! No wonder she looks as fat as Mammy or Aunt Pitty."

"But madam, this is all the fashion! Nobody wears those impossible cages anymore. I once tried one and couldn't even breathe in it."

"Fiddle-de-dee! It's better not to breathe at all than to look like that!"

_This is the moment when I give up, smile and slowly prepare my retreat._

"And where do you think you're going?"

"Oh, well… I'm going to the kitchen, madam. There's something I have to do." _Anything. _

"Very well. It's not like you're good company."

"Oh… I almost forgot. Mr. Hamilton phoned and said he's coming tomorrow. He will bring his – now what was it called? – his automobile! The fastest ever made. How beautiful it must look!."

At the mention of her son's name, her mind begins to wander again, while Molly's voice is going on and on. _I haven't seen him in a while. I hope he knows how to drive that… somehow, I can't see him doing anything that dangerous. He's still so reserved. I know everything we've been through marked him as well. During the War, all I could do was notice how he was gradually shying away from me. I guess I lost him then and found it so hard to regain his trust afterwards. But God knows I've tried._

For the first time that day, she starts to take in the surroundings and, as usual, her eyes drink in the land's exquisite beauty – the imposing presence of the dark, secular cedars, the fresh green of nature in full bloom and the graveled drive that seems to promise a wonderful journey towards a magic place. _Here, where it all began. _This magnificent sight opening up in front of her has been an infallible source of comfort to her through the numerous bad times in her life.

Feeling herself flooded by a wave of thankfulness, she speaks aloud:

"Tara, Tara… What would I have done without you? Pa was always right…land is the only thing that lasts." She knows better than anybody else that Tara is a solid pillar which has stood its ground throughout so many periods of time.

And, more than anything else, she sees in Tara a "living" memory, a testimony of old days gone with the wind. It gives her the same sense of security and calmness which permeated her life before the Civil War. It was her liaison with the past and the glory of her youth, never letting her forget what a lifetime has thought her.

She remembers herself crying on the grand staircase, wondering "What is it that matters?"… Now, she knows the answer. And she's not going to let it slip through her fingers ever again.

The thought of losing the answer is enough to make the woman involuntarily shudder. It is the magic resort that makes her cross the oceans of time to relive those days of grief yet revelation, so intense that every moment seemed to count for the beginning of a new lifetime.

She always tries to stop looking back – it's one of her oldest rules to turn her eyes away from what's been and gone, but today, when nature seems to have mistaken the year by turning this beautiful place into what it used to be, she finds herself powerless. So she drifts endlessly, taken by the flood of memories which may never want to stop their running at breakneck speed…

**So this is the first chapter of my story. I decided to begin with the end and narrate the story by using a series of flashbacks that sometimes merge with the present. I hope you found it interesting. **

**Please let me know what you think.**

**Until next time! Ann.**


	2. A touch on the shoulder

Standing on the crowded train platform. Leaving Atlanta, just like may years before. Only this time, she wasn't fleeing the yankes, or their guns and canons; she she was getting away from the house which gave birth to many unpleasant memories. So much had happened in such a short period of time. The grief that sporadically invaded other people's lives had flooded her past, carrying with it the loved ones, either lost forever or driven away by misfortune.

However, she wasn't actually running away. That would have been shameful in her opinion and very far from her though character. She was just going back to the place where she would be able to cope with the pain, think of her behavior towards everyone that mattered to her and find a way to fix what was broken.

She knew she had been terribly wrong when it came to feelings. She regretted her foolishness and blindness, the mistakes made when anger and frustration had taken over, usurping her better judgment. But she wasn't one to give up the right to happiness, not after having fought and struggled for so long.

That's why, instead of sobbing on the staircase, she was now waiting for the train to arrive, holding Wade and Ella by their small hands and impatiently shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Right after Melly's funeral had ended and she had put the last delicate flower on her friend's grave, she took the kids and headed for the Atlanta station. The weather was foggy, a lazy rain kept bothering everyone with its unwanted presence.

"Mom, when will the rain stop?"

"I don't know, darling. Let's hope it's sunny at Tara." She answered to Ella, much more patiently than she had ever done in ages. The last blows had awakened her dormant maternal instincts and rekindled a sincere interest in her children's well-being.

"How many people!" exclaimed Wade, looking around him with amazement and a little fear, as he always did in the presence of strangers, even though they weren't paying any attention to him.

"You're right, honey. Can you see someone familiar?" The last thing she needed was another member of the Old Guard questioning her about the most talk-about gossip in town, her disastrous marriage.

She felt her Irish temper begin to rise when she called to mind the upsetting episode that had taken place earlier that morning, as the funeral was about to begin. Mrs. Merriwether had approached her, wondering loud enough to be heard by everybody:

"Why didn't your husband come, _Mrs. Butler?_"

Her pride had made her answer that he had some urgent business to attend to in Charleston, but he was by her side in that time of trial and sadness.

"Actions speak louder than words, my dear. It seems to me you two are as distanced from one another as if you were strangers" said the old woman, with a knowing shake of the head.

"Then maybe for once in your life you should mind your own business and leave us alone." She just couldn't help it. It had torn her heart to pieces to hear somebody thus comment on their relationship. Of course it hadn't been perfect, yet their love couldn't be anything but real, indisputable. She had felt the ardent need to defend her marriage and make things clear – she wouldn't tolerate anyone broaching this delicate and personal subject.

However, she made the effort to seem sociable in order to clear Wade's unease. She soon followed the boy's gaze, which was dancing around the platform, trying to distinguish features that stood out in the crowd. Instead, another fact hit her. On people's faces, there was such a wide range of emotions skillfully painted by their radiant smiles or their teary eyes. It dawned on her that she only needed to take her time and pay attention to their expressions so as to guess what they were feeling. In that sea of faces she could read love and adoration, resentment, sadness, nostalgia, fear of the unknown and disappointment, clearly displayed. She saw either people who wanted to express those sentiments or ones trying to hide them under more or less effective masks. However, their looks, their smiles and their gestures spoke for themselves. Scarlett O'Hara then realized she may have done things really differently, had she ever tried to break through Rhett's mask of impassibility and coolness. If only she had glimpsed the person behind the persona and appreciated her husband's love for her. She wished for the chance to be in the same position again, to read the sincerity and kindness in Melly's eyes and to sort out Ashley's complicated feelings for her, for she had only relied on what she'd stubbornly wanted to believe, without even bothering to check if it was true.

Of course she craved for that one shot. Nonetheless, she had wised up enough to know it just wasn't possible. What could actually happen was getting Rhett back, by finding a way to prove him that her love was there to stay, durable and true, not an infatuation like what she had felt for Ashley.

Suddenly, this long-awaited and necessary moment of revelation came to an abrupt end. She startled and turned around immediately, feeling a hand on her shoulder. Prepared to face an attacker, she just couldn't believe her eyes.

It was **Ashley.**

As soon as she remembered the surprise and confusion she felt then, another hand on the same shoulder made her come back to the present. Molly has been uselessly calling her for some time. She decides to turn the lady's attention to her. She is sorry to put an end to whatever she was thinking, because she seemed so focused and caught up in what passed through her mind.

"Oh! You scared me to death! Why couldn't you have called me first?"

"With all due respect, madam, I did and you didn't take any notice of me."

"Well, what is it?"

"Mr. Hamilton's car is slowing down the drive. He'll be here in a minute."

"Already? Where is my powder?"

"The doctor said it is bad for your skin. It seems like you've been overusing it lately. Madam, Mr. Hamilton is your son. I'm sure he won't mind seeing you without wearing powder."

"I cannot put in words how that doctor gets on my nerves! What does he know?"

"I'm sure nothing, madam. That's why he's the doctor."

Before Scarlett can make any sharp reply, an elderly man enters the large room and stops in front of her. Wade Hamilton is averagely tall, a little too thin for a healthy constitution and half-bold. His features are permeated with a rare sort of distinction which was also written on his aunt's features, Melanie Hamilton. Even after so many years, Scarlett can easily distinguish the sincerity and kindness in his eyes, exactly the same as his father's. He is a gentleman in the true sense of the word – well-educated, with a passion for literature and classical music and innately modest. His mother has always known that they have so very little in common – they are utterly different types of people. It is one of nature's mysteries how stubbornness and adaptability can give birth to conciliation and stability.

"Good afternoon, mother. How are you today?"

"I'm fine, my dear boy" she replies as a wave of affection makes her eyes watery. After all, he is her son. He came to her when she wasn't but a girl herself, the consequence of an irrational and rushed decision. But who knows how different her life would have been if she hadn't said "yes" then, prompted by Ashley and Melanie's kiss. She wouldn't have been at the Atlanta Bazaar, where she found herself on a long, difficult and enigmatic road – that of love. "What have you been doing lately?"

"I've been working and planning ahead. My company isn't doing as well as before, but I have no reason to complain yet. Did you read today's newspaper? "

"Yes, I read about the crisis and I'm worried about you. It keeps getting worse and many businesses don't manage to stay afloat. Promise me you won't take any risks and won't let anyone fool you into doing something wrong. Please, take care."

"There's no reason to worry. You know I have done nothing whatsoever under the table and the present profit is more than enough for me and Margaret."

She is absolutely sure of that. Scarlett helped her son start his own business and expand it to a successful company, using her sharp practical sense. Not only is Wade an honest man, but he also is a calculated manager, unwilling to put up with anything illicit regarding his work, almost too fearful of taking chances in her opinion. But it's better this way, and more in character with him.

"Have you spoken to Gerald since the last time?" he asks his mother, already knowing the answer.

"Of course. He is in New York now, with Jane and the kids. You know how Gerald is. He can't stay in one spot – been around the world but still cannot help but travel more. "

"Is he writing a new book?"

"Searching for inspiration in the big city. He'll come and see me as soon as he has the opportunity. I can barely wait to see you two together again. Any news from Ella?"

"She called me on my birthday and said she is fine."

"Did she mention me?"

"Yes, she asked how you were. I told her you were fine and wished to see her, but she made no reply."

"Well, it doesn't matter. I just hope she's all right, wherever she may be."

They go on talking like this for an hour or two – time has brought them together. They are no spring chicken and have plenty of subjects to discuss: funny or sad memories, plenty of persons to remember and love, hourglasses of moments to cherish. With every new visit he pays her, Scarlett realizes she loves her son – she really does. It isn't just her duty to be less irritable to him than to others, it is the fact that he means a lot to her.

And she needs to know that he feels the same way, respecting her even though he may not have always understood her decisions and her behavior, seeing her as the lady she has always wanted to be.

** This is it! I know Ashley showing up at the station may seem a little abrupt, but I'll explain in the next chapters. **

** I will also make clear who Gerald is and why Ella doesn't want to speak to Scarlett in a few chapters. **

** Let me know what you think! Ann.**


	3. Flames

**Hello everyone! Here****'s the new chapter. I know there's not much dialogue in the beginning, but please read on. I tried my best!**

What separates a summer? What makes it any different from the last one, or the next one? An autumn, a winter and a spring. Yet they are also similar to those autumns, winters and springs who have passed or who are yet to come and go. Some may say that time is the answer – the melancholic and fear-inducing notion which changes cities and faces. It takes us away from people and moments we cherish, leaving them behind, like a ship guided by the currents which passes by a distant water-house, with its shining light getting smaller and smaller till it becomes invisible.

Yes, time goes on. **Vanitas vanitatum omnia vanitas… **

Is the now familiar old woman thinking the same right now? You could say so. She isn't one prone to philosophical reflections, yet when you have the chance to live so long and see so much, it's hard to keep existential dilemmas, however useless, out of your mind. At least from time to time.

Today is one of those days when she finds her stubborn and autonomous head stuffed with thoughts about the past. She may not be an introspective person, sometimes even histrionic and oblivious to other's feelings, but even Scarlett O' Hara notices she is becoming increasingly nostalgic.

After all, there is nothing wrong with this. She deserves it more than anyone else to finally be able to rest and read between the lines she has been avoiding all her life – a life of struggle and survival, dominated by the need to be practical, strong and selfish. Even in her teenage years, when she was sweet 16, she wasn't expected to think about the passage of time or the frailty of everyone's feelings. No, she perfected the irresistible charms of a typical Southern Belle, considered the most attractive when she seemed to have nothing in that pretty head of hers but admiration and respect for some fools who had nothing better to do than fumble around her.

Of course, it was kind of stereotypical behavior which proved rewarding for her vanity and she cannot deny she had fun being pampered and treated like a beautiful damsel in distress, waiting to be saved with flowers and declarations of undying love from one of her beaux.

"It was priceless to watch India and Honey Wilkes turn green with envy at the barbeque at Twelve Oaks, while all their admirers quarreled over who was to have the honor to bring me something to eat. Oh! It really was a triumph to secretly laugh at them in my mind, as they were drinking every silly word I said. And all of these wasted, _gone with the wind_, for I was only putting on a show to make Ashley jealous and steal his love away from poor Melly. At least I was the prettiest in that puzzle of colored dresses and flowing locks so it was natural for me to be the centre of attention."

As if she could ever forget that fateful day. It was the very same of the ides which brought her heart closer to Rhett Butler. She had been dreaming of somebody good enough to match her since the word "love" was first mentioned in her presence. Of course, she spent a frustratingly long period of her life mistaking that somebody for Ashley Wilkes, when in fact it was obvious he was as far from it as possible.

The distant spectrum of this blond-haired man with grey melancholy eyes now stands once more in front of Scarlett, just like she saw him seventy years ago, standing on the sun-bathed veranda and observing how much she had grown up.

"I have to admit, it took me ages. I'm ashamed of having been such a blind fool. How pitiable I must have seemed to those who really knew what was going on in my head and how scandalous to those who judged me from afar. But this doesn't matter anymore, thank God."

She purses her lips, as a sudden thought crosses her mind. Even now, it did mean something; because of this terrible mistake and its ensuing complications, she almost lost a relationship. Moreover, she ruined another one, damaged beyond repair by the unfortunate past. As usual, Scarlett still hoped against hope that she'll eventually win, making that special person understand her reasons and motivations.

"Oh, come on! You know what they say, late is better than never. You have enough time to mend everything, cause there must be a way!" Only this time, the equation seemed to have too many variables and the constants have rotten in time, affected by denial and resentment.

With faltering, hesitant steps, she makes her way to the phone. Her long and skinny fingers pick up the phone and dial a familiar number, one of the very few she knows by heart.

"Hello. Who's there?"

"It's me. I just called to make sure you are fine."

"Oh" Such a short word. It's amazing how only to letters of the alphabet, brought together in a common way, can express so many emotions.

Anger. Hurt. Frustration. Neglect. Compasion. Wonder. Curiosity.

_**Hate.**_

_** Love**_.

"Everything's just as good as it's always been. Nothing extraordinary happening out here. You know, worrying about my grandchildren. I try to devote myself to them, give them all they need, make sure they never lack anything. Unlike myself."

Scarlett catches her breath. She didn't expect to find these old wounds still bleeding, anyway not such a flooding amount of blood.

"This is what I want to talk about. Honestly, you have nothing to blame me for. Be reasonable!"

"Only you could say that. Nothing to blame you for? Why, sure, _mother_. If you have any right to be called so."

"That's not true. Firstly, you insolent brat, I've provided for that silly mouth of yours for so long." She regrets it as soon as she says it, no shouts it. The doctor has forbid her to let the infamous Irish temper get the better of her, yet she couldn't help it, even if the last thing she wishes is to push Ella even further away.

"Is this really everything you've ever thought about? Money? And God knows, you've earned so much only by stealing, cheating and seducing. Your favorite ways."

"But you've shamelessly spent it after all, you little hypocrite!"

"And how was it, to _provide for_ your illicit lover, give him our money, probably as a reward for finally giving in to you after so long and notorious a chase? Everyone knew all along that you ran after Ashley Wilkes, destroying your reputation and tainting my father's name. On and off, on and off – you and Rhett Butler, your third husband. How did you trick this one into marrying you? Let's be honest, you know nothing about love. "

Both of them want to cry, but they are too proud. Ella wasn't always like this – she used to be so calm and gentle, yet a few explicit comments and hints dropped by a trusted mouth sufficed to turn her against her own mother; a vile narration of some controversial moments of Scarlett's life came at a critical point, when Ella's mind was searching for some explanations from somebody else.

"This is the stupidest and most untrue phrase you've ever said. Congratulations, you have outdone yourself!" says Scarlett, in the tempestuous and abrupt manner she displays every time she's hurt, putting the phone down on her daughter.

"Why does she have to be so stubborn? I used to think she would be just like Frank. It seems she takes after me too. Maybe I'm too harsh to her, expecting her to change her mind so suddenly. At least I know better than anyone what's it like to entertain a fixed idea for a long, long time. There must be a way to make her understand!"

A thought comes out of the blue and creeps slowly into her mind. She rejects it at first, but then it starts to take root.

"What did Rhett say? How was it called?"

_Catharsis._

"This is exactly what I need. I have to try. Maybe I'm not too late."

**The next chapter will contain more references to the past and what happened to Scarlett O'Hara. **

** And Rhett Butler will make an appearance soon! **

** Please let me know what you think. **

** Until next time,**

** Ann**


	4. Familiar faces

Ella,

Life's made of choices and dreams. Choices, for we are obliged to make them even when we'd rather choose to pass the burden to somebody else – however, sometimes the only one we're able to find is our own self, stronger and more determined than ever. But this is something I hope to explain better by writing these lines. Dreams, because everybody has them – skeptics may deny them and those too proud may not admit this simple fact. Yet, it's true. We all wish for love, trust, maybe money or health. It's not important whether these desires are moral or not, obtainable or even the least bit fair. Either way, the way we cope with them rules our lives – hurting a friend, pushing aside a lover, fighting to survive because your dream is to _live._

I know you think of me as a terrible mother or, more exactly, the whore who ruined your father's life. It pains me to write this. From a certain point of view, it's actually the truth. Yet there's so much more to it than that and I hope to prove it to you.

I find it necessary to explain to you, once and for all : I'm not reviving old memories in order to manipulate you or make you pity me so as to win your confidence, even though I can't see why I would be doing it. I'm simply tired of being misunderstood. I regret not trying to clarify everything many years ago. If there's anything undeniable in what they used to say about me, it is that I'm stubborn and proud. This is an immense step for me. Don't make me sorry for it any more than I already am.

Unsurprisingly, I'll be straightforward. I didn't love your father, Frank Kennedy, nor I married him for anything else than his money. Hate me more? I cannot blame you. Please read on .

I told you countless times how disastrous things were at Tara back then. How we struggled to get through the day, working life field slaves just to survive, with our stomachs empty and, more seriously, with our minds weary. The Yankees wanted to put their dirty hands on my home and let us starve to death in our dignity and useless chivalry. What could be done? Stand there and wait to be thrown out in the street, beaten by some lucky fools?

Of course not. You know, giving up's never been an option for me. There's always a way and, if you work hard enough and make the necessary sacrifices, things turn out the way you want. Marrying Frank wasn't a whim or a sick need to spite my sister, it _was a sacrifice._ Part of me knew there'll be no going back – it was a choice. Suellen could never forgive me and you hate me. I could tell even then, while I was battering my long and dark lashes like a true Southern Belle that this was going to happen, a punishment for breaking a rule.

And I was willing to spend the rest of my life (and even of my Afterlife) paying for this deliberately cruel thing I've done, for those hearts I have shattered to the ground were broken so I could put an end to the danger of losing one of the very few things I've constantly loved.

Moreover, I loved Rhett Butler. And I still do. I know some of my actions are blamable and that, from where you're standing, I seem a materialistic woman who marries men only for their wealth. Outwardly, this might have been true at the time. But you know, when I said "yes", the day of your father's funeral, there was something in me willing me to don't let the moment we shared pass. It was like finding security and comfort while, at the same time, feeling like a worshipped and worthy woman.

I may not have noticed this feelings then, but I know now they've always been there, hidden somewhere in my heart, foolishly pushed aside.

I will not refer to some events in our marriage, the main topic for gossip when you were a child. You know about my decision to push him away and deny some of his rights, about Bonnie and the tragedy brought upon our family and about the miscarriage. You attended Melanie's funeral right by me side and I know how much it affected you – I know you lost a mother then, the best you could have had.

What I want to explain to you is the path I chose the day of the funeral, and the complicated series of events which followed, for it's clear by now that trouble can't leave me alone. I'm asking you to have the patience to read all about it.

There, on the train platform, through the drops of rain that stained my cheek, I stared at Ashley. I just couldn't believe my eyes. He was pale, paler than I'd ever seen him. The few sparks he used to have in his grey eyes had been put out forever. Melanie's death chased away his hope – he looked beaten, on the point of giving up on life itself.

You may think it was normal. As you already know, Melanie and Ashley had loved each other and, in spite of all my unrequited passion, she'd always been his first choice. Surely the only choice. But it was disappointing and tragic in my eyes – he couldn't gather the strength to live through it, not even for his son's sake. As always, he needed my help – a tough shoulder to rely on for support when war, change and death destroyed his world. This is what I was to him: a beautiful and independent woman who did it her way, carrying him with me out of pity or friendship.

"Ashley! What are you, in the name of God, doing here? Are you going somewhere? "

""Yes, Scarlett. "

"Well, where?" I asked with a hint of anger in my voice. Why did he leave Beau behind?

"I'm heading for Tara." A faint but certain voice. "With you."

""Great balls of fire! How can you make jokes in a time like this? And how do you know I'm going to Tara?"

"My dear, everyone who knows you, however obnoxious he may be when it comes to something else about you, could have guessed you'll go home after all you've been through. I've known you for so long… you love Tara and need the red soil of that plantation to survive. "

He was right. But it still didn't make any sense. "And have you really lost your mind? You can't come with me. I _don't need or want you to." _

"But can't you see, I need to. Now that Melly is dead, your help, your courage and your stubbornness are like air to me. No one can fix me now, make me the way I used to be. But I know, if there's someone who can reach out a hand and guide me, that someone is you. "

"Mother, is Mr. Wilkes going to accompany us?" Wade, always a little gentleman, formal and polite, yet so innocent and clueless. He was happy that someone who reminded him of Melly wanted to come home with us.

"No. Simply not. What's everyone in Atlanta going to think of me? And of you and Melanie. Are you blind and deaf? Haven't you heard the rumors spread by your dear sister herself. I'm already considered an abject and horrible creature who cheated her best friend. Is it really not enough for you? You already ruined my marriage and reputation with your talk of honor and sacrifice. "

The expression on his face made me instantly regret my furious and reproachful words. He turned even whiter, tried to mutter a few words but failed miserably.

"I'm sorry. I know I haven't been fair with you, Scarlett. What I said that day at the mill was true – I never wanted anything for you but complete happiness. How ironically that I've been the one to keep you from it. You're right, I don't deserve the slightest help. It'' just my nature that makes me admire you so much that I'm unable to deliberately hurt you – I couldn't have said to you that I didn't love you, especially while finding myself mesmerized by you. But it's true, I loved Melanie more than anything in the world. She was my purest and steadiest dream. I don't know how to mend the wrong I've done. "

But I was sorry too. I felt I wasn't keeping the promise I made to Melly on her deathbed. I only hurt him further. Of course, he was the cause for losing the only true love of my life. On the other hand, he was my oldest and closest _friend. _We didn't have very much in common, maybe except for the memories we've shared of a life without fear and ugliness.

I just had to help him. I didn't know if Tara could be of much help to him, yet it was worth trying. Anything to make him understand that Melanie wasn't coming back and that he had to be strong for Beau, if not for himself.

"Fine. You can come with us. My reputation is ruined already and I guess I won't ever be able to redeem myself in Atlanta's eyes. I will stand by your side, but you have to promise me you're going to try and give your best shot to be strong."

Just then, the train entered the station and I had to check that everything was prepared for our journey. Wade and Ella were restless, as it was the first time they were travelling by "the gigantic iron monster" – this is the way you put it.

Standing near the window, wanting to say my goodbye to Atlanta, my heart skipped a beat once more. No, my heart literally stopped. There, on the platform, looking directly at me, was standing a tall and imposing man – impeccable suit, large panama hat, shiny black shoes. Masculine features, tanned skin and jet-black hair. It was Rhett.

His gaze was focused on me, observing me with that impenetrable mask of his.

That was the moment I honestly asked myself if I was still sane. Maybe all I've been through had got the better of my mind and now I was imagining things, seeing recurring persons who played a part in my life.

Was this a beginning or an end? What did it really mean, I couldn't tell. But I knew it meant something – it killed the indifference. And anything's better than indifference. Even hate.

Hello everyone. Sorry for not updating more often. So, this is it. Rhett's in the story again, as enigmatic and unreadable as ever. What do you think? What should happen at Tara?


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